Reina took her hand. “From my dreams. I’ve dreamed of several of the men I’ve inspired throughout my lifetimes. I didn’t make love with all of them, you know. Some men I inspired simply by engaging in conversation. But all of them remain imprinted in my soul.” She squeezed her hand. “Have you begun inspiring Braden?”
Every time they’d made love, Braden came up with new lyrics, each song better than the last. “Yes,” she answered, probably blushing from her thoughts.
“I can tell by the way he looks at you that you are more than just his Muse. You are his soul mate.” Reina guzzled her water. “He had no problem accepting your ability of pheromone manipulation. I don’t see why—”
“Pheromone manipulation? What are you talking about?”
Her mother frowned. “I thought you and Braden would’ve discussed it. Remember last week when all those people started arguing in the restaurant?”
The night she’d fought with Braden, accepted his apology, chickened out, then left with Jon. Not her proudest moment. “How could I forget?”
“It was because of your moussaka. When you cook, you transfer your emotions to the food through a chemical process called pheromone manipulation. Very few Muses are born with the ability, but you’ve always been special,” her mother explained, pride in her voice.
“That’s crazy.”
Reina gave her a crooked smile. “Maybe, but it’s also true. That’s why Braden had you make the chocolate fondue. Worked as soon as the customers ate the first bite. They apologized and that was that.” She clapped her hands.
Talk about manipulation. Her mother and Braden were in cahoots, compadres in insanity. “You’re saying they apologized because of me? And that Braden knew this?”
“Don’t be angry at him. He’s trying to save his most valuable possession.”
She nodded. How could she forget? Everything she’d done this month was for him. “I know. Acropolis.”
“No,” her mother said softly. “You.”
Braden walked in the front door then with a scowl on his face. Reina patted her knee and slid off her stool. “Well, I’m glad we got the chance to talk. Don’t forget we’re going shopping for Portia’s wedding dress tomorrow. Braden, good to see you again.” She grabbed her bag and coat and hummed as she left them alone.
Lola wanted to confront him on his failure to tell her about the pheromoney thing, but she had a different idea of how to get the truth out of him. For now, she gave him a hug instead. “How’s your sister?”
He relaxed against her and rubbed her back. “She’s a survivor. I offered to let her stay with us.”
She tensed and pulled away. “Of course.”
He yanked her back and kissed her softly. “But she declined. She’s going to stay at our father’s house.”
“That’s silly. If she’s uncomfortable, I can stay at my apartment.”
“No.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “That’s not an option. I want . . . we still have too much to go over before the audits.”
What had he started to say? A ton of bricks weighed heavily on her shoulders. “Fine, but if she changes her mind, you have to tell me. I don’t want to come between you two, especially since this thing between us is only temporary.”
He jerked back and released his hold on her as if she’d slapped him. “Right.”
She’d hurt him. The last thing she wanted to do. But better now than later. So what was this sensation of pressure on her shoulders and in her chest?
She tugged him by the collar. “Hey, are you going to make some bread this morning? You promised you’d teach me, but you haven’t let me cook anything since the moussaka. Are you intentionally keeping me out of the kitchen? The whole point of this is so I can learn everything you do. What if the auditor asks me to bake bread? I’ll fail. And you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”
She waited for him to clue her in on the pheromone thing. He wouldn’t risk giving his customers food she’d prepared, would he?
His cupped her chin. “You won’t fail,” he stated as a matter-of-fact. He placed his hand on the small of her back and led her to the kitchen. “Come on, we can make horiatiko psomi. They still make the crusty bread in outdoor ovens back in my family’s village in Greece. It takes several hours, but it’s worth it.”
As Braden lectured her on the chemical reaction in bread making, they dissolved yeast in lukewarm water and added flour and milk, forming a thick liquid which didn’t resemble bread at all. She tried to listen, but frankly, she couldn’t stop thinking about her mother’s contention that Lola could put her emotions into food. She wanted to test the theory.